


i am the pretty thing that lives in your house

by discountghost



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Gen, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: “You can see me.” A statement, not a question.
Relationships: Kim Bora | SuA & Kim Minji | JiU
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	i am the pretty thing that lives in your house

**Author's Note:**

> Just trying to write some low-stress stuff as my favorite season rolls around~ Don't mind me.

She had sworn she would never be back.

That had been the promise she had made to herself in the last year of high school when it’d all...imploded. The bank, even, was supposed to have claim over the estate if it was still standing, but here she was. There  _ it _ was. She swallowed as she surveyed the movers bringing boxes. The late morning sun shone down on her skin and she wasn’t quite hearing what Handong, the real estate agent sent on behalf of the bank, was saying. Something about how the estate had been paid for and that the will would be read out in the morning to finalize everything. But, also, that this was all hers.

The agent tucked a red strand of hair behind her ear. Bottle red dye that she pulled off so well that Minji had considered asking for her number. But she didn’t. Didn’t feel right; nothing about this place ever felt  _ right _ . Sweat rolled down her neck as she scanned the house where it stood. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, but she blinked and it looked like all the work was done. The agent, Handong, had gone. A pearl white business card was tucked into her pocket that she didn’t remember taking. Her head swam. She needed a drink.

Minji, for all intents and purposes, had hated living here before. Her early life had been littered with memories that were less than pleasant. She remembered a distinct hatred for one of the rooms in the house, but not which room. It radiated into her already general dislike of the place. She closed her eyes as she sat down at her desk, wine glass already full. She kept the bottle with her.

It was only six, but there was so much work to be done. Papers to sort through, stuff for work. Work; she groaned at the thought of it. Before all of this, she’d been assigned to a new writer at work. Someone promising, but she’d never heard of them. Park Seonghwa; first time novelist. He seemed like an agreeable enough person, but he could very well be a picky writer. They were particular like that. He’d also seemed nervous to hand over his manuscript, and that was not always a good sign. This being his first piece beyond a short story, she considered he could have just had a certain attachment to the work.

She stared down at the printed copy and considered lighting a cigarette. To feel the pull of it when she breathed in and the drag of her breath as she exhaled. Just to get through the first chapter. Regardless of if it was any good or not, Minji was  _ tired. _ But work must be done.

She shoved the documents of the estate to the side, deciding that she couldn’t care to look at them less in this moment. She could always come back to them when she felt more up to it, anyways. She flipped open the proof of the manuscript, barely glancing at the title. Maybe she should have. It opened with a quote, and she let out a whine of distress. Shakespeare. Park Seonghwa was either a wordy bastard or he liked to think he was. She filed that into the back of her mind, cleared it from her attention before she started harboring some kind of bias.

_ There sits a house on the hills. An old man sips at his coffee as he stares out over the fields, rocking in his chair —  _

Nothing about these lines gripped her. Minji rubbed at her forehead, reached for her glass only to find it empty. She poured herself another glass, tried to press on. She closed her eyes to center herself. Something in the house creaked, but it was an old house.  _ Something creaks. _ It was a coincidence that her eyes landed on those words, she told herself. This house was old, and if she was gathering anything, so was the house in the book.

She glanced up at her glass, considered another. She was only several paragraphs in. Her first reading around was to be void of prejudice. Simply — let it sink into her deep. Minji sighed. The house had spoiled her mood and the best she could do was wait for a day when she went out. 

The house creaked again. She sighed again. Goosebumps raised over her arms, the back of her neck. She hated this house. Her hair had already begun to fall from the messy bun she’d pulled it into. Something settled low in her gut as she walked up to the hallway. The light fixtures were empty; she’d already discussed with an eletrician over the phone to have someone come in tomorrow. The only light that shone were from the perimeter lights. She would have chuckled if she had teenage memories of failed attempts to sneak into and out of the house. She might have laughed if she thought of the few, scattered stories of animals frightening her mother. But those moments were so spectacularly short-lived, they were no more than a blink’s worth of memories. 

Shadows were long against the walls as the lights shown through the few windows of that hallway. A hallway that — even when this was supposed to be her “home” — she tried not to pass through at night. Now, though, she had no other choice; something creaked again. And then, music.

The tinkling of piano keys as someone toyed with them, tested them. The melody was soft, but haunting in a way that made her blood run cold because she knew this song. She just didn’t know where from. Her steps carried her further down the hall, her phone flashlight aiding her way where the outdoor lights couldn’t reach. The wood of the floors creaked beneath her feet and she wondered if this was a bright idea. Not really. But it hadn’t been a bright idea to come back here in the first place. She could have just sold it, but the underlying sentiment that existed beyond her surface animosity for the estate had been persistent. 

The melody continued as she approached a room. The door was ajar. The knob was a grimy glass thing, shaped like it should have resembled a star. But maybe the years had been unkind enough that it no longer did. Her fingers wrapped around them slow, and even without pushing the door open, the thing groaned. As if it weren’t used to the pressure of a living being pushing it open. The piano continued, louder now that Minji was closer.

Minji thought that this was something you only saw in the movies. The kind of thing that only happened on the big screen. Her heart beat in time with the tempo of the song, increasing as the woman’s finger’s danced over the keys. Her face didn’t reflect the passionate laying, a stillness from the shoulders up. And then — it stopped. She stopped.

She licked her lips. Maybe it was just the alcohol. She’d had a lot to drink. That would explain why there was a stranger sitting in the old ballet room her parents had set up when they’d expected her to become some kind of prodigy. The piano itself sunk into the floor, made it dip low in a way that was so familiar and made her gut wrench. She hated it. She hated this.

The woman turned her head, slow. Seconds that felt minutes passed as she turned to look at her. Cat-like eyes stared her down, peered at her unimpressed.

“You can see me.” A statement, not a question.

Minji didn’t respond. Or maybe the soft whimper that left her was response enough. The woman, her brown hair falling over her shoulders, pushed back from the piano. Stood upright. Her dress was cream colored with swirling patterns. But stained across the front with red. Her hands clasped together in front of her, steps careful. She drew closer and Minji stumbled back.

Her breath misted in the air as the woman stepped closer, still. Everything in her screamed to move away, but she couldn’t. Not anymore. The wall was at her back. The woman was in her face now. She studied Minji as if she were a book. The woman regarded her for a moment longer before she sashayed back into the room. Floated, really.

“Welcome home, Minji.”

The door shut behind her and the lock clicked into place as the melody resumed on the piano.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this was a fun li'l read. Thank you for taking the time to read it!
> 
> [writing acc](https://twitter.com/discounthaunts) / [stan acc](https://twitter.com/discountghosts) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem)


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